


The new gardener

by Hoechy (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Manipulation, manipulative, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2637137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Hoechy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Stiles is the kid of a rich family, living in a nice house, with no problems whatsoever. His family hires Derek as their live-in property maintenance person for a three-month period, three months where Stiles is in charge of everything. At first, Derek does what he was paid to do, but Stiles, the sarcastic, obnoxious little shit, begins to expect more. Derek who is short on money and a permanent home to call his own has to give in to Stiles's desires and expectations to keep his job. WIP</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Is that a threat?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know the proper tag to describe what happens in this story, but basically what I plan on writing is that Derek is put in a position where he is expected to perform sexual favours in return for not being fired. Derek doesn't entirely dislike giving Stiles these favours, but the way in which they were instigated seems a bit dub con-ny or manipulative to me, so if you're not into that, don't read past chapter one.
> 
> Inspired by this GIF set: http://sourwolf.tk/post/102158492614/igotlostinslashland-so-you-must-be-the-new

Derek pulls up in the shabby looking blue-come-rusty ute, which used to belong to his father, in his new employer’s backyard, a backyard which looks like it could be as big as any school oval. He steps out of the car and closes the door. He doesn’t mean to slam it but the hinges seem to give way easier than they used to. It creaks as it closes, too.

Wearing some torn jeans, an off-olive shirt which sports oil stains, however oddly only on the short sleeves, he looks around, taking in the grandeur of his new digs, or rather, his employer’s digs. The backyard is one thing, but the mansion behind it is something magical. It is three stories tall and has short spires on its four corners, and to someone like Derek, who up until recently has lived with his father in a shack in the middle of nowhere, is quite intimidating. To the side of the house, hidden away behind some bushes, is a granny-flat. _Those_ are his new digs. He imagines it’s just one of many seemingly out-of-place buildings on the property, considering he saw another one when he was driving down the gravelly driveway.

Derek’s gaze travels down the front of the building. He takes in everything about it; the windows on each story, the balcony on the middle story, the large, solid-looking wooden door on the bottom story. A pool is at the base of the house. It shimmers with crystal blue water. Beside it is a large umbrella and one…two…three…four deck chairs. Three are vacant, however on the one closest to the house sits a skinny young man. Even though Derek is at least ten meters away from him, he can make out some quite distinct moles on the man’s neck and face. He seems to have noticed Derek, too, because he stands up. The man’s outfit could not be more cliché for someone who lives in a palace such as this. He wears a check-shirt with its sleeves are rolled up. The shirt is tucked into tight tan golf-shorts and is accompanied by some white shoes without socks. The man wears pitch black sunglasses making his eyes impossible to see. He walks slowly, drably, obnoxiously down the sandstone steps until they fall away and instead the next step is the grass of the backyard.

Derek isn’t surprised when the man hesitates to put his pristine looking shoes on the grass. Actually, now that he’s closer to him he can see that those ‘youthful’ features are not just features that are well looked after, but features which are actually that of someone who is young, perhaps 18, 19 at most; this person has only just surpassed his teenage years. _Great_ , Derek thinks. Derek is almost 22. The kid puts a hand on his hip as Derek walks the small distance over to stand in front of him. He expects him to introduce himself. Perhaps he has a name like Walter, or Matthias. That wouldn’t be surprising.

“You must be Derek?” Is the first thing the kid says. His tone would indicate dissatisfaction, as if Derek’s arrival which made him get up from his sun-lounging session was such a big inconvenience and disruption to his daily schedule, or lack thereof.

“Yes. Um, I’m here for the property maintenance job. I spoke to someone on the phone. A Christopher…is that you?”

The kid laughs. Clearly that is the stupidest thing he’s heard all day. “Oh, no, no, no. That’s my father.” Disdain mars his voice on the last word. “My name is Scartlenquo.”

 _Scartlenquo? What the hell kind of name is that?_   Suddenly Walter doesn’t seem so bad.

Derek doesn’t know whether to laugh or to beg for the kid’s pardon in case he heard the name wrong. When his head crooks to the side, confused, and his lips part slightly, revealing rabbit-like teeth, the kid extends a scrawny hand which too sports a few moles.

As Derek goes to extend his hand, the other man withdraws his and laughs maniacally.

“Just KIDDING!” He screeches. “My name is Stiles.” He thinks himself hilarious because he’s almost toppled over in laughter.

Derek doesn’t find it funny but he figures he should at least smile. He’s going to be here for the next three months, and he does not want to get off on the wrong foot. Especially with this kid who looks like he doesn’t spend much time not getting his way.

“Ah,” he says as he forces a laugh, and his time they actually shake hands.

Stiles ends the handshake quickly, but not before looking his new family gardener up and down, as if to admire his physique.

“Anyway,” he says, still recovering from his laughing fit, “my father is away for the period of your employment. I, obviously, live here, so will be who you…report to.” He bites his lip. Derek is unsure exactly why. “But I believe my father left you instructions when he and you signed the contract?”

“Yes,” Derek answers.

“Yes. Good. As far as I know your duties include basic maintenance; pool cleaning, mowing, gardening, repairs, gutter cleaning. I think those are the gist of it…”

 _What self-respecting male says gist_ _like that?_

“…You will stay on the property, in that flat,” Stiles says, pointing to the structure Derek identified earlier. “Your…car…can stay on the gravel. It cannot be on the grass like it is now. You are expected to work Tuesday through Saturday. What jobs you do when is up to your discretion unless I ask you otherwise. Clear?”

Derek nods. The man who he spoke to on the phone and later met (admittedly at the front of the property) seemed less obnoxious. He still had a twinge of entitlement to his voice, and he still spoke to Derek like Derek was so far below him he could accidentally step on him, but the opportunity for a live-in, well paid job was something the poor man could not easily give up.

“Excellent. It doesn’t look like you have much stuff," he says, motioning to the three boxes in the tray of Derek's ute, "but you can move in right away.” He doesn’t smile or signal anything as a normal person would when he finishes speaking; he just begins to walk away. He stops when he’s at the top of the steps and turns around, remembering something. “Derek,” he says. “Just remember there is a clause in your contract which states you can be dropped without that fortnight’s pay. Don’t give me an excuse to do that.”

Derek nods. _Is that a threat?_ For now, too bad if it is. What could he possibly do wrong which would get him fired? Nothing. He knows what he’s here to do and he knows he can do it well. It's just gardening, after all. Right?


	2. Chapter 2

The first two and a bit weeks were fine. Derek found his rhythm; he found his schedule – Tuesday he mows and tends to the vast lawns, Wednesday he cleans the gutters, Thursdays are for odd jobs, Fridays are pool maintenance and cleaning, and Saturdays are for whatever he can find...or whatever Stiles requests. Sundays and Mondays are obviously his favourite days because they give him a much needed reprieve. He doesn't tend to go out much, other than to buy groceries. The flat is small but comfortable and homey, which Derek finds odd considering he is essentially living in someone else's house, but he likes to spend time there, just sleeping, because if he sleeps, he can keep his mind off things he'd rather not think about.

On the third Thursday on Derek's stay, he wakes later than usual. He is meant to be up and working by 8.30. He's thankful that he's allowed a late start, but now it's 9.30. The first time Stiles saw that Derek was late to begin his tasks, the kid reminded him about a certain clause in his contract. Derek apologised profusely, but Stiles just put up his hand and turned up his nose. "Don't let it happen again," he said.

Cleaning the pool is one of the bigger jobs. Less dangerous than cleaning the gutters, like, way less dangerous, but more labour intensive. Stiles likes the wooden deck chairs to be scrubbed and shined each week. That alone takes Derek a good two hours, even though he doesn't really understand why. He's only seen a few people visit the house while he's been there, and often it's the same woman who looks like she shares a similar privileged life as Stiles. Stiles also likes the umbrella to be kept clean. Derek doesn't really think it gets dirty...sure, it gets a few leaves stuck in its joints at the top, but is that really cause to take it down, soak it in soapy water, and scrub the pole like the chairs every single week? Stiles thinks so. Then, of course, there's the actual pool that needs cleaning. It has to be at least 20 meters long. It's huge, bigger than the dainty blow-up pool that Derek's father got him one year for Christmas when he was a boy.

"Ew, no," Stiles said when Derek asked him if they had an automatic pool cleaner. "How _ugly_." Derek had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Not a problem, though, that just meant he'd have to get in the pool and pick all the sunken leaves that Stiles had traipsed in up off the ground himself. At least he'd get too cool off, because, at other times, swimming is forbidden. He has to be invited to use the pool, apparently, and that hasn't happened yet, and is unlikely to happen for some time.

When Derek found out that he'd be cleaning the pool by hand, he figured he should probably buy some board shorts considering he didn't have any because he hadn't needed any since he was a kid. However, going to the grocery store late at night meant that most other stores were closed, and he hadn't had an opportunity to get a pair yet. So, for now, he has to make do with what he has. Stiles isn't around, or is at least still sleeping, and so far as he knows the family's maid isn't working today, so he figures it's okay to go in in just a pair of briefs – some of his newer, better briefs. Tight ones, you know, because if anybody is around, they probably don't need to see what comes with baggy, loose underwear.

He slips off his shirt, kicks off his shoes, and drops the same jeans that he was wearing when he arrived. He bundles them up on the first chair he had cleaned, which is now almost completely dry. He stands at the end of the pool – to dive in or not to dive in?  _To_ dive in. And he does so quite elegantly for someone who has never really been around pools.

He's amazed by how many leaves actually make their way to the bottom of the pool. Luckily, they're large leaves. He wanted to trim the trees outside the pool fence, but Stiles vehemently objected. "Nah,  _boyo_ ," he said. "I like them. They look nice."

"They look nice, but the leaves fall into the pool." They don't really fall into the pool, they fall beside the pool, and Stiles manages to kick them in in the little time he spends standing or walking around the pool as opposed to sunbathing near it. "But okay." Derek doesn't know how serious Stiles is about that threat that has been lingering over his head since he has arrived. He has, admittedly, received more compliments about his work than reminders of that clause as of late, but he doesn't want to push it, so in most instances where he and Stiles talk, he agrees with the kid.

Derek surfaces with two handfuls of dead, soggy leaves. He lumps them to the side of the pool in the net which he uses to grab ones on the surface from out of the water. He can't help but dip his head back under before he goes to hop out, savouring this opportunity.

There are steps starting at the bottom of the pool meaning people don't have to hoist themselves out on an edge. This is one example which isn't exactly the height of laziness, but actually a good idea. When Derek stands on the second-to-last step, and only his ankles are in the water, he runs his hand through his hair and rubs the chlorine water out of his eyes. He looks up when he hears the sound of the gate clicking shut. Slightly taken aback, not because he's shocked that Stiles is home, as that was an obvious possibility, but more because he's standing there soaking  _wet_ and almost entirely naked in front of his...employer.

"Ugh. Stiles." Derek looks down at the ground, then at his hands which are hovering out in front of him, not really sure what to do.

Stiles doesn't acknowledge Derek with words straight away, he leans against the gate, biting his lip. "Nice," is all he says when he speaks.

Derek's head cocks to the side, and a slight smile begins to form on his face. He might just laugh, because that's a joke. Right? Stiles cocks his head too, his eyes run up and down Derek, then he leans down and picks a few leaves off a bush outside the pool fence. He walks over to the pool, holds the hand that holds the leaves over it, then opens it, letting the leaves fall into the pool.

When Derek doesn't move because he's slightly confused, Stiles says "Are you going to get them?"

Derek reaches for his shirt, because he has to maintain  _some_ modesty. "No, no," Stiles says before he grabs it. Derek looks up at him slowly. That could be a look of annoyance on his face, but it doesn't look like Stiles cares. He is still biting his pink, puffy lip, enjoying this. "Pick them out...with your hands."

Derek clicks his tongue and lets out a slight sigh, and it all suddenly makes sense. The fleeting looks, the flirty behaviour. Denying Stiles this is the excuse Derek would give Stiles to fire him, so begrudgingly, he kneels down in front of Stiles, wearing nothing but black, wet briefs, and begins to gather the leaves. He has gathered all but two, which are too far out of his reach, so he has to lie on the pavement surrounding the pool so he can extend his hand out further without falling in.

Stiles stands above him. He likes what he sees. It was a good choice on Derek's behalf to wear tight briefs, because they frame what Stiles thinks is 'the perfect ass' nicely. He has to stop himself from bending over and slapping it. For now he only allows himself to admire it. That will change, though.

Derek stands up, having now collected all of the leaves, then shakes them off his hands over the fence into the bushes. He stands only centimeters away from Stiles, who is wearing thick black-frame glasses and a bath robe. He smells like sleep. He seriously came all the way down here...for what? For this?

Derek is taller than Stiles, almost half a head, and intimidating. Much more intimidating than his poncy, self-entitled _kid_. Stiles's line of sight meets Derek's neck, and his breath falters when he sees that alluring stubble up close. He wants to look up at Derek but he has to admit that he is legitimately nervous, even if it's only a little bit. This is  _manipulation_ , and Derek is bigger than him. Much, much bigger than him. He can take what he wants, if he wants. So, instead, Stiles looks down. He looks down at Derek's chest which still has droplets of water on it. But now it also has specs of dirt on it from when Derek lay on the ground to pick up the leaves Stiles dropped into the pool.

Stiles slowly raises his hand, and it hovers over Derek's heart.

"Y–You're..." He coughs, then clears his throat. "You've got dirt," his breath hitches. "On...On your chest."

The space between Derek's chest and Stiles's hand closes. He begins to wipe the dirt off of Derek's chest. Not to be helpful, or kind, but for selfish reasons, because he's got to admit that he's had a thing for this _man_ since he arrived. And he wants to act on it; he  _will_ act on it, whether Derek wants to or not, and that starts with touching. Here. Now. Derek's entire torso is toned. Stiles's fingers trace unnecessarily over a pink nipple, and Derek exhales deeply and slowly, making Stiles stop. He steps back, almost falling into the pool, but Derek catches him. He  _catches_ him.

Stiles can't look Derek in the eye when he sets him back on firm ground. He simply says "Have the rest of the day off" very quietly, then scurries up to the house, leaving Derek with an array of different thoughts and feelings rushing through his head. _That was so...weird._ _Is that what he's wanted? Is that why he's such a dick to me? Did I do something wrong? Should I have done something more? Or less? Did I like that? Why did I like that? Can I_ –

His thoughts are interrupted by the house's door slamming, then he quickly gathers his clothes, not even bothering to get dressed, before walking back to his flat, all the time looking at the ground, wondering what in the hell actually just happened.


	3. Chapter 3

For a few days after the incident, Derek doesn't see Stiles. He hears bangs and clanging which mean the boy is obviously still in the house, but he doesn't come out to sunbathe, or give Derek instructions on what he's to do. Derek was thankful for that at first, but enough time has passed and he's come to the conclusion since that Stiles must have been drunk, having a bad day, or just not thinking clearly. He's okay with it because Stiles's threats about cutting him from the job have merit, and they have nothing to do with  _that_ , despite what he thought in the heat of the moment with Stiles at the pool.  _I would actually have to do the job incorrectly_ he thinks to himself. Then that'd be a legitimate excuse to fire him. Fair enough. But he's not going to let that happen, so he has nothing to worry about.

It's Tuesday of the next week when Derek next sees Stiles, and everything he had been thinking for the past few days goes right out the window.

Tuesdays are lawn days. The family, surprisingly, does not have a ride-on mower. Instead, Derek has to trek a normal-size mower around the oval in rings that grow smaller as he moves closer to the inside. This usually takes him the whole day, not surprisingly. Today is especially hot, despite the fact that there is little to no sun about - it must just be the humidity - so Derek decides it's okay to take his shirt off. With the overhead cloud cover, he shouldn't get too burnt. He still wears a dorky full-brimmed hat of which the brim is beginning to droop, and shorts held up by a belt which cut off just above the knees. They don't really suit him, but hey.

On the third or fourth ring, which means he has at least a couple dozen to go, Derek notices Stiles. The kid walks cockily down the stairs, past the pool. When he gets to the last step, he steps right onto the grass, unlike the first time Derek saw him there where he hesitated. He has a look of odd confidence in his eyes, but something that might also look like frigidity or scaredness. He takes short struts until he is equidistant in space between the steps and Derek. He stands like he expects Derek knows what to do, so when the man doesn't, he beckons him over. Derek has to sigh because he wants to get this done, and talking to Stiles is not going to quicken things up.

"Stiles. What do you need, man?"

The entire train of thought that Stiles had designed in his head – an apology about what had happened last week, and how that he was sure that it would never happen again, and if it did, for Derek to just ignore him and let him calm down - just shattered into a million pieces. What does he need? He needs the lawn mowed, he needs the pool cleaned, he needs Derek to clear out fallen branches from the front of the house, he needs the plants watered, but what he fucking  _needs_  is this to take this man, right here, right now, in the middle of his fucking backyard, on the ground, as dirty as possible, and then to do it all again, but for Derek to make him whine like the brat Derek thinks he is, then he _needs_ that to continue for a long time to come, in any which way possible, whenever he wants, however often he wants, in whatever position he wants. That's what he bloody well needs. But he can't say that. Can he?

He must have stayed silent, just awkwardly staring at Derek, or the ground, for a good minute, because Derek huffs, throws his arms to his side, and turns his back to the boy so that he can go back to mowing. Just as he begins to move through ankle-height grass, though, Stiles lunges after him and manages to grab the back of his belt. He tries to just hang on to it, to get Derek's attention back on him, but his finger gets caught and he loses his balance, making him fall to the ground, and he pulls Derek with him.

Derek lays in the grass on his back, and Stiles is half on top of him, half on the grass as well. His hand is still caught in the back of the belt, which means it's awkwardly wedged under Derek's back. A flicker of sweaty skin, and maybe a little bit of hair in the small of Derek's back brushes past his hand when he goes to remove it, but fails. Stiles closes his eyes and lets out a long breath, and Derek goes to move, allowing Stiles to then free it. The gardener is annoyed, and this, essentially grabbing his ass instead of calling his name or grabbing his shoulder, has made him think that Stiles definitely does have another agenda here.

"Seriously, Stiles," Derek says as Stiles reveals two unrestrained hands. "What the hell are you doing?"

Stiles was proud of himself for a moment for managing to free his hand, but now his expression turns to something childish, like he's just been told that no, he can't do something by his parents.

Derek urges his shoulders forward, using his body to ask for an answer. "I think I get it, okay. You like me. Great. You're a cute kid too, whatever. But this stuff? The threats? The blackmail - that is what it is you know, if you're threatening my job if I don't like you back; it's blackmail - what the hell? You brought me here to do a job. I'll do it. I'll do it even if you're perving at me from up in your house, but if you're going to do this every time I see you, we're going to have problems. You can't just come up and grab me...when I'm working." There is a noticable pause between when he finishes the word 'me' and starts 'when I'm working', and Stiles picks up on it. "This is not just some 50 Shades of Grey shit."

"What if I give you the day off again?"

"What?" Derek asks loosely, standing up.

Stiles stands up too. "What if I give you the day off? Can I grab you then?"

What the  _fuck_. What the legitimate fuck is he doing. You can't just ask some shit like that, what the hell was he thinking? The problem is that he's not thinking, not with his upstairs head at least.

Derek isn't entirely sure how to respond, so Stiles does it for him. He steps closer to Derek and puts his hands on his belt buckle and begins to undo it. "You said I was cute," he says as he manages to pull the belt out of the loops on Derek's shorts. Derek could stop him now - he could stop the kid whenever he wanted - but he chooses not to. Stiles continues. He unbuttons the button on Derek's pants and undoes the zipper. He wastes no time in dropping them and Derek's briefs with them.

Luckily the property is big and isolated because otherwise someone might see Derek standing with his clothes bunched at his ankles, standing completely naked with Stiles next to him.

Stiles leans up into Derek's ear. "You can have the day off," he whispers. Then he is standing behind Derek, his hands are on the man's package of reasonable size.

"Get on the ground." His voice is more coarse this time. That is a demand. _You can have the day off, but you still work for **me**_ is what it says.

Derek obliges silently. His knees bury in the dirt, then his palms do too, and he is thankful that the grass is green and soft. He doesn't look behind him, but he can hear Stiles's buckle click, then something drop to the ground. Then he feels a presence in close proximity to his, and hears a watery sound. Stiles laughs and something makes a further slicking sound. Then, without warning, something warm is at Derek's entrance, and it pushes in. Hard.

Derek doesn't know how big Stiles actually is, but it feels like he's fucking huge because Derek feels like he's had the wind knock out of him. He goes to gasp but his mouth only falls open and his eyes roll back in his head when Stiles hits something which feels good.

The cocky kid is back. This twinky little kid smiles sadistically as he runs his hands over his property's body. He feels muscles tense under his touch as Derek hardens his body every time Stiles moves in and out of him. Eventually the pain begins to subside and then there is only pleasure, but Derek still feels out of breath. He feels like he could collapse under Stiles; Stiles of little-to-no weight. And he does. It begins with his strong arms quivering, then his legs too. Then he just flat out drops to the ground. His face manages to land in the only patch of the lawn where there is no grass. Dirt paints his cheek. Stiles sees no reason to stop, instead he laughs again and he puts a hand to Derek's head. He grabs a handful of black hair and pushes Derek's head further into the dirt and thrusts faster.

One part of Derek feels humiliated and disgusted, but the other feels amazing and somehow refreshed. He hadn't had sex in a long time. Like, a long time. And even then his experiences were more like experiments which never produced good results. This is oddly enjoyable, and despite the fact he's being ridden up and down in the middle of a fucking oval by his kid boss, he's getting off on it. He's totally getting off on it, which probably explains why his length begins to grow underneath his weight. It is sandwiched between the ground and his treasure trail, and every time Stiles thrusts into Derek, Derek's length also rubs up against the ground. It's not the best feeling and it's not the worst, but it's obviously doing something because it only feels like it's going to keep growing.

Stiles leans down closer to Derek's ear, still holding his head against the ground. "You like it? We're -- UNF --" he runs his spare hand over Derek's shoulder, under his armpit, so that he can tweak a nipple "-- Literally fucking dirty. You're so tight, baby boy," he says. "Baby boy," he repeats. "I like that." He laughs as he pounds into Derek harder again, making Derek shudder underneath him. "You do love it."

Derek wants so badly to say he does, but he thinks that if he says it aloud, his whole opinion will change, and he won't love it. He won't feel pleasurable, he'll just feel fucking dirty, and he doesn't want that, so he stays silent, save for some grunts and moans.

"I'm gonna cum, baby boy. You too." Stiles pulls out and aggressively turns Derek over, revealing his pink nipples, toned body, and slight treasure trail. Like at the pool, his body shines sweat mixed with dirt. He has had his eyes clenched closed, so he has to open them slowly. He looks dazed, confused, and he lifts up his arms to try and shield his eyes from the overhead sun. Then Stiles is straddling his waist, and Derek's member is flush up against something warm and wet, Stiles's dick, and encased by something warm, the boy's hand.

The twat knocks Derek's hands away from his face, meaning the sun pours back into his eyes. He laughs again, because apparently disorientated, confused Derek is hot. Or, at least, having power of this otherwise strong man is. Stiles grabs both of Derek's arms and pins them above the man's head, then he begins to stroke the two of them together. He leans down and begins to suck different parts of Derek's upper body, all while Derek still writhes beneath him with his eyes closed as to avoid the sun. Stiles starts with the neck, then he moves to Derek's shoulder, his underarms, his biceps, his nipples. Then he bites one, and it makes Derek yelp, but Derek can't do anything because he's fucking close too.

Stiles moans something and his strokes begin to become more random, then he's grunting something, and swearing, all while Derek's still with his back to the grass. Then Stiles is cumming. He's groaning and swearing and he bites down  _hard_ on Derek, but the pain is nothing compared to the pleasure Derek is feeling, because Stiles's cum has coated both of their cocks, and Stiles is still managing to massage the two packages despite his being sensitive. When Stiles's hand shudders, jerking the cocks an odd way, allowing warm cum to coat Derek's cock, he loses it. He grunts and he squints his eyes as his mouth opens, and he wants to scream, to yell, he really does, because this is intense, but he doesn't. He can't. He takes in a deep breath and thrusts his pelvis up, then he's cumming. His seed mixes with Stiles and then he falls back, limp in all uses of the word.

Stiles just laughs again, and stands up, not caring at all that he is naked in the middle of an oval. He gathers his clothes in a bundle and slips them on. Derek still lays on the ground, panting. White material saturates his groin and chest. He managed to kick off his shorts during that...experience, and Stiles notices this. He kicks them so that they land a few meters away from Derek. He then laughs, again.

"Get back to work," he says.


End file.
